


dependent variables

by bishounen_curious



Series: volleyball dads [18]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Canon Compliant, Creampie, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-11-29 00:10:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18215531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bishounen_curious/pseuds/bishounen_curious
Summary: Suga can't think straight (ever actually) but especially not when he finds himself distracted bysome peopledoingsome things.(Or, Suga wants to have unprotected sex with his boyfriend and after a lot of strife, gets what he wants.)





	dependent variables

**Author's Note:**

> wow is that a *squints hard in the distance* ...a volleyball... dad?

Suga doesn’t know what recently changed in his messed-up little brain. 

Well, that’s a partial lie; he can identify the _precise_ difference—pretty damn well, actually—so maybe the question is less _what_ , more _how_. He’s always been great at algebra, so this is a first: getting thoroughly stumped by an unknown equation of sorts. It’s a kick to his confidence to be faced with the same, familiar variables he’s worked with for years and suddenly have no clue how they’re all supposed to work together. It sucks.

Everyone on the team knows he’s stressed and that throws Suga into an endless loop of misery. Because everyone from their ace to their not-so-new newbies look to him for calm. For reason. For a guiding light in their dimmest moments, and they certainly have a ton for a high school volleyball team. He prides himself being Karasuno’s pillar, its stability. And now… he’s just _not_.

It’s probably because of all the porn. 

But Suga really, _really_ , truly does not want that to be the case. 

Also, to acknowledge that Tanaka was right is a pretty low thing on Suga’s wishlist. It had just been a passing joke from the delinquent, too. _Thinkin’ ‘bout all that freaky shit you whack off to, Vice Captain? Serve the frickin’ ball and stop drooling over the nasty ones!_ It’s so frustrating. And what’s worse is that Tanaka was right on the money, whether he knew it or not. 

And dear goodness, even Daichi’s noticed. So sweet and attentive and concerned like a teammate should be, a boyfriend needs to be, and boy, Daichi never lets him down in that department. Suga couldn’t have dreamed up a better partner, to be honest. Daichi’s so honest, so adorably dorky. He’s the textbook description of a triple threat: empathetic, handsome as hell, and an unreal fuck. Literally _perfect_. Any problem Suga has can be aired without judgment (most of the time). They’ve had bad conversations, even more tragic fights. And yet...

Suga just can’t bring _it_ up. It’s not even a big deal: it’s just a weird one.

He hates his brain. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

It’s why heavy, noxious anxiety weighs down the bottoms of his lungs as Daichi pulls Suga in to suck face post-practice. The crisp scent of Daichi’s shampoo still clings to the folds of cartilage of his earlobe. Suga breathes it in as Daichi tickles kisses along his damp collarbone. 

It’s endearing to be needed like this. Suga can’t even spare a second to take his wet towel off of his shoulder and switch into his street clothes. Daichi wants him _now_. Probably could hardly wait for it, too—impatient for them to finally be left alone in the volleyball clubroom. It’s the perfect set-up. Privacy. Empty space they can fill with soft sighs and husky laughter. 

It’s all so wonderful.

And Suga’s already killing his boner before it has a chance to really shine.

“Come home with me,” Daichi mumbles, even though there’s no one around to eavesdrop. 

“For what?”

Ticklish pressure rubs his ear—Daichi’s nuzzling him. _God_. “Homework. Doing laundry. Convincing my parents we’re focusing on entrance exams as much as we are on volleyball.” Daichi elbows Suga’s bare ribs, failing miserably at looking sly. What a huge nerd. “C’mon, Suga, what do you think?”

The algebra skills come in handy every so often. Like now. Suga doesn’t need to look at the problem to solve for ‘x’ because anything involving the two of them, free time and a locked bedroom can only mean one thing. 

“Um,” Suga says.

Daichi’s reaction is just as guilt-inducing as Suga anticipates. He’s not confused or disappointed or even pissed off. There’s plain concern written across his face. Dating an attentive hunk, Suga surmises, has some downsides, apparently. Who knew.

“Are you feeling okay? You seemed off at practice today—Actually, all week.” Taking a step back, Daichi gives him space to breathe, which funnily enough, provokes the opposite reaction in the setter’s lungs. Suga feels like he’s drowning. 

Of course, Daichi thinks he’s ill or something. If sex drives could be ranked, Suga’s would probably tower over most of the people’s in Miyagi Prefecture. If Daichi breathes in his direction it makes Suga’s dick twitch. No wonder him clearly avoiding an opportunity to get his guts rearranged is a red flag. 

“Peachy,” Suga swallows, his false nonchalance nothing but transparent. Fuck. Sometimes he’s just as bad a liar as Daichi is. “Really.”

“I don’t like it when you hide things from me.”

Suga isn’t an impulsive person. Usually. 

Except when it comes to his desires. When it comes to sex.

Like now.

Like when one of those moments of astral detachment, of seeing the flesh and life you call your own come rarely out of the blue and elevate your perspective. How that split-second experience suddenly knocks the very soul out with its force at the right moment. Suga sees the monochromatic clubroom, the melting sunlight sinking toward the horizon line, the dark circles staining Daichi’s undereyes, the throb of blueish veins in Suga’s own wrists pulsing softly at a predictable rate. This conversation, this anxiety, it’s just… It’s what it is and nothing more. 

Suga would be stupid not to think it’s a sign. The universe aligning in the precise coordinates to tell him to get _the fuck over himself._

“Daichi…” And honestly, what the hell? Out-of-body-experience or not, Suga’s a big boy. He can ask his boyfriend of over a year to try something a little nasty. What makes this any different? They’ve tried a lot of bedroom shenanigans. Things that made both of them blush but didn’t end up killing them. What’s another thing stacked on top? The Earth will still spin. “You want me to be honest?”

“Always.”

Suga closes the space between them, cupping Daichi’s stubbly, dry cheek and leaning in to brush their mouths together.

“Raw me and eat your cum out of my ass.”

Suga’s breathless from his own bravery, but the world is still moving. Something so insignificant as this won’t throw off the cosmos’ calculations.

“...Daichi?”

That kind of lewdness makes Daichi burn. It always does. Daichi never anticipates these types of comments, because no matter how nasty he gets, it never really taints him. Suga expects an exclamation or a conversation—it usually sparks some sort of sexy compromise between them. That’s the formula they both know.

“Okay.”

Suga is the one to yelp. Now, that’s new. 

Daichi shoves him against the lockers, a deafening clang ringing through the empty clubroom. Suga tenses when the kisses from earlier return, but with renewed passion and motivation. The tongue on his collarbone is joined by teeth. Suga dissolves into the cool metal behind him as Daichi unravels him.

“You’re not sleeping around,” Daichi laughs, pulling Suga from the groggy haze. He always stays so grounded when they fool around. “Just with me. I know you’re clean.”

“Uh-huh.” Suga gulps, writhing as pleasure as thick as molasses drips down into his belly, fills him up until he’s wholly sluggish and sedated. And then, Daichi adding his weight against Suga’s definitely-swollen cock only worsens his sounds. “Just you, big guy. Just dirty with you.”

“It’s crazy. I’ve never been in you like that.” Daichi’s swipes his own bottom lip. “After all these years.”

“I want it so bad. I wanna feel you, please. Please, Daichi I— _Yes_ ,” Suga moans, shoving himself up into the sensations. It happens so quickly. Daichi thumbs the tip of his cock and teethes up his chest and Suga’s losing it so fast. He can’t yet. But, how does he do that when his boyfriend, still cozy from the warmth of the post-practice shower, presses closer and closer to him. It’s impossible. Suga doesn’t care, not really. Not now, anyway.

The necking stops way too soon. Daichi only pulls away to attach his mouth to Suga’s, and that’s better. They make out for a bit, turning each other more and more pliant. Breathing is a work-in-progress at the moment, sure, but in Suga’s experience, oxygen-deprivation brings the best pleasure. Suga secures Daichi against him, close enough that he can rut against his hip and Daichi vice versa. Everything is so syrupy and dreamy—it’s hard to remember they’re still at school.

And then Daichi pulls away and tells him to brace himself against the locker. And, in Daichi’s words, “Pop that cute, lil’ booty out, too.”

How can he deny that request?

The cool metal feels good on Suga’s blistering skin, but, what feels better is Daichi’s safe palms caressing the length of his sides. The kisses are tiny bursts of sunshine, his laughing breath a welcome breeze through plush grass. Suga sighs as Daichi molds his body like earth, shaping him into the perfect, accepting state. He lets Daichi do whatever he needs. He trusts him. 

After a while, Suga hears the click of a bottle. “Want any prep?

“Mm,” Suga hums, peaking over his shoulder with a lazy smile. “Nope.”

“Just wanted to make sure,” Daichi pecks his cheek. Suga attempts to get as comfortable as he can, pillowing his face into his forearms. The wet sounds of Daichi slicking himself up to make his insides twinge in need, and Suga bites his lip from the force it takes not to reach down to stroke himself, too. 

His toes clench in his socks as cool lube dribbles over his hole, slipping all the way to his balls, dripping to the floor. He rises up higher on his toes, pushing his ass out farther as Daichi braces himself on either side of his hips.

“I’ll go slow,” Daichi murmurs. “Promise.”

“Please don’t,” Suga laments. “I want to be _fucked_.”

“Creep.”

Suga can’t even get a snippy remark out before Daichi pushes inside. He takes his time bottoming-out, but that kind of brisk penetration is a whole other level of _ohfuckinghell_. Suga keens, biting into his arm, trying his best to keep his sounds private. Comforting circles rub into his hips, love peppering Suga’s shoulder blades. It’s hard to breathe, even then, even with the reassurance and the care and years of relational history between them.

Holy fuck, Suga’s just so full.

Daichi’s rough palms travel up and down Suga’s sides. It’s nice but it does absolutely nothing to subside the sting. “You okay?” The way his voice wavers sends new heat to Suga’s flagging cock, nonetheless.

He doesn’t answer. Instead, Suga presses flush into Daichi’s hips, rolling his own as much as he can without the stretch becoming too painful. Daichi swears like he always does, immediately digging his fingernails into the flesh of Suga’s back. Suga huffs with satisfaction into his arm, smiling as he feels Daichi rut into him on instinct. He can’t help himself. 

There’s nothing hotter than that; than falling into old patterns.

“You’re awful,” Daichi pants into Suga’s damp hairline. He isn’t sure if it’s from shower or sweat at this point. “You’re making me wanna—oh.”

“Do it,” Suga goads. “Use me like a fuck toy.”

It’s so good to feel Daichi’s cock twitch at that little line of smut. It’s even better that it rips an embarrassed sound out of him as he begs Suga to cut it out. “C’mon, you know when you say shit like that—”

“Yeah, I do,” Suga cuts off, pressing his cheek into the metal, using the leverage to push back against the captain. “Do it. Wreck me. I need it so bad. God, all week I just wanted— _Daichi!_ ”

The force of his thrusts increases and Suga’s voicebox jumpstarts in a way he isn’t used to. His moans crack. Suga reaches back to make contact with Daichi’s sweaty forearm and he holds him, connects them in a new way. Suga pants shallowly, uselessly as Daichi pumps into him with a new, reckless rhythm. It just started and Suga’s already gone. Already shaking, already.

Just what he needs. Wants.

“I wanna take my time with you,” Daichi says after a while, his soft, baritone filth making Suga swoon. “Come home with me. I mean it. I’ll treat you so good. Until you’re begging for it. Please, Suga,” Daichi worships the skin behind his ear as his hips knock into him like punishment. “Yeah?”

“God, what’re you even saying?” Suga crows, squeezing his boyfriend’s arm, bruising be damned. “We’re fucking now and—”

“No.” It’s so rough and commanding Suga can’t help but moan. “ _This?_ ” The pace quickens, deepens, and Suga has to bite into his skin again to keep from attracting any unwanted attention from anyone who may be milling around outside. “This is nothing, Suga. I wanna adore you for hours, baby.” Oh god. The mushy shit goes right to the heart in his dick. “Gonna kiss every inch of you. Overwhelm you. Make you feel so loved. It’s gonna take all night to do everything I want to you.”

Suga groans, a shudder wracking him as he hides his face in his arm. Now, he’s embarrassed.

“Finish this,” Suga scolds with a snicker, sticking out his butt and slyly grinding into Daichi’s very hard, very perfect cock. “And then treat me like a prince or whatever. You nerd.”

Daichi’s body heat takes on a humiliated note. It’s adorable. “You’re never into what I say—you know I’m bad at dirty talk. C’mon.”

That makes Suga laugh. “Shut up! I just—we’re doing this and romance isn’t exactly the first thing and—Daichi you’re balls deep in me.”

A satisfying sting of a smack brightens over Suga’s ass. “Sure am.”

_Oww._ Suga catches his breath, his smile disappearing into something darker. “You’re so weird.”

“Only with you.”

Suga has whiplash when he’s spanked again, the jiggle of his butt so sensually in focus in his mind’s eye. Daichi hands rebrace themselves: the plush of Suga’s right hip and the back of his neck, squeezing just enough. Suga immediately loses all spunkiness and bite and drops into the submissive state he’s been dying to get into for days.

“Do your worst to me,” Suga swallows. “I mean it.”

Daichi fucks him with a new vigor that Suga miscalculated that he possessed. Daichi basically milks himself with Suga’s ass, pounding him in a way that’s gotta feel so good, so controlled, so selfish. The little groans slipping through Daichi’s clenched teeth spark up in Suga’s own cock, and he takes himself in his palm. Dry strokes, but it’s alright because Suga’s building up to something fast. 

It’s too many stimuli. That possessiveness in Daichi’s grip fuels his orgasm in an easy way, but he can’t help it. He wants to be wanted and used and praised like he’s the best sex object Daichi’s ever had. It’s a little fucked up, but Suga doesn’t give a shit. He craves this once in a while, being owned like this, used and ruined and left a mess. It comes in parabolic waves, reaching a crest before it peaks and it curves back down, waiting until the urge strikes again. Always predictable and the same. It’s fine, Suga thinks, just like everything else. It’s fine.

Daichi’s good at solving these problems without even asking for directions. He’s definitely better at math than their teachers give him credit for.

“You’re so tight,” Daichi heaves into his bone marrow. “I feel you so much better. Without a condom.”

It’s one of those things people gossip about or post on the internet that Suga can’t take for face value. Safe sex is something he’s adamant about, adamant to have no anxiety over. He’s uses protection, doesn’t sleep around with anyone that isn’t named Sawamura Daichi. Suga spends most of his spare change on rubbers and lube, more so than snacks from Ukai’s family shop for the team after practices. To him, it’s one of those things that just doesn’t outweigh the risk. 

At least he’s thought that for years.

But there’s something about watching those pristine actors getting filthy in all those videos. Watching all that American-made pornography with minimal censorship and clean-skin. Those adult film stars don’t love each other, probably don’t even think about the feelings of the person they’re mixing their fluids with. Most of the stuff Suga finds himself getting off to is amateur shit—real couples fumbling around together with low-resolution shots and bare-bones production value. 

The visuals in professional productions are hot, the Hollywood bodies are nice, sure, but it’s the initimacy that gets Suga hot. The couples that love each other and find pleasure together through laughter and motions they’re familiar with. It’s their bare cocks brushing together, saliva mingling, that makes Suga feel a bit empty. Makes him feel sad when he balls-up a used tissue and chucks it in the trash bin near his bed.

Makes him feel like he’s missing out. If paid professionals and others can, why can’t he just…?

He’s got his own partner here, and yet, they don’t have what these horny strangers have. Identifying that variable was hard for Suga. It made him angry. At himself, primarily, but also, at his cowardice and nerves. They could do it. They don’t have to to be something. But... They could try. It’s not like they’d get pregnant, or god, give each other anything they know they both don’t have, and yet… It was the judgment holding him back. The fear.

But it was unfounded. He knows that in hindsight, with Daichi clapping his ass and choking him out minutes after their team leaves. They’re careful. They’re safe.

“You’re hot,” Suga mumbles, feeling drunk. “I like it.”

“Y-yeah.” Daichi’s leaves bruises where they connect. “It’s like I’m fucking your heartbeat.”

Suga cackles, the kind of belly laughs that jostle around his stomach and move his guts. Both of them laugh, both of them moan. “That’s something, huh?”

Daichi’s palms seem to envelop him. “I love you so much.”

Suga can’t agree more.

Daichi’s movements don’t speed up, exactly, but something changes. The pressure, the rhythm, the context? Suga can’t pinpoint what exactly it is that sets his orgasm off. Makes him curl his fingernails into the unyielding metal of their lockers in a painful way and then flying back to the yielding skin of Daichi’s forearms. Suga buckles forward, releasing hot and sticky as he pulses around Daichi, gripping him in the sweetest way he’s ever done. 

Daichi’s hot mouth attaches to his sweaty scalp, panting as he jerks into him, quick and sloppy, before bursting into him. Suga gasps, feeling squeamish and gross and fulfilled in a way he didn’t expect to. Daichi’s gooey and bright inside him, warm in a way Suga suddenly falls in love with.

He’s already addicted to it.

It’s gross and so human and Suga’s barefoot in the grimy, germy clubroom in just his socks. Daichi clutches him in a primal way, cuddling him close as he shoots the rest of what he has inside, rocking into him. He’s so pent-up. Suga mumbles nasty shit into the lockers as Daichi uses him to ride out the dregs of his orgasm. It's so viscous and warm and so very much Daichi it hurts.

Daichi nips his neck lazily, holding Suga while Daichi’s at his most fragile. Suga tugs his own cock even though he’s oversensitive and spent.

They’re embarrassing and naive, but holy fuck, Suga wouldn’t have it any other way.

They don’t move until their pulses and breaths regulate. Suga feels repulsive. With all the nasty activities they’ve participated in, this feels the strangest. 

When Daichi pulls out, Suga doesn’t expect to feel defiled. Feel it start to drip out of him. Daichi starts to leave hickeys on his upper back, and Suga lets him, moaning protests he doesn’t act on as Suga tries not to flinch.

“Wow,” Daichi says, basking. 

“Yuck.”

Suga wants to make a joke about it, tease his boyfriend about the shared experience, about that line they just crossed. But he can’t. Because Daichi’s dropping to his knees and those rough kisses dot along his ass and inner thighs and Suga bites his lip, bites back a protest that he doesn’t have to, but then—

Suga can’t see it, but he can picture it clearly.

Daichi’s lips make a seal around his entrance. Sucking lightly before breaking it, before diving his tongue inside his loosened ring of muscle, and just. Eating him out. Suga doesn’t know what to do. He’s tender and weak and Daichi’s cleaning up his mess. Softly, pleasantly, humming as he intakes what he just spent.

Suga can’t see it, but he knows it’s better than any porn he’s ever seen and ever will watch.

It lasts only a minute. Daichi gets up, says a quick sweet thing into his shoulder blades before exiting to go brush his teeth in the toothbrush he’s smart enough to keep in his own locker. 

Suga stands wobbly and alone, with his hands on the locker, dazed. Vaguely, the sound of the sink and a toothbrush filter through the air, but all Suga can focus on is the dull throb of his blood, the ooze of Daichi's spunk still inside him. He touches his belly, biting his lip to contain his smile. This is exactly what he wanted.

He isn't sure if he enjoys swallowing it more or this. Both are so intimate in such different, nasty ways.

He doesn't dwell on that messed-up thought for long. When Daichi comes back, he brings a warm washcloth with him. He washes Suga and he accepts it. It’s something they usually do, clean up after themselves, but now, it’s foreign. Almost. Suga remembers the strokes, the order of operations in which Daichi works. But the entire problem is new, different rules he’s working within the same realm of work. 

Huh.

“You okay?” Daichi’s voice breaks him out of his headspace. Suga’s shoulders relax and he turns around to face his boyfriend. Daichi licks his lips and gives him a once over. “Was it...gross?”

“It felt like you peed in me,” Suga feels himself heat up even though he’s the one that asked for it. 

“Suga!”

“Only a little!”

“Jeez,” Daichi says, turning away to start dressing himself. “You’re messed up.”

“And you just ate my ass,” Suga clarifies, copying Daichi, but not before giving the other a playful pat on the head.

Daichi has nothing to say to that except for an exasperated, silly sound. The pair of them redress between their silly back-and-forths. “Y’know,” Daichi says, pulling his t-shirt on. “The offer still stands.”

There’s just a bit of semen dripping into his underwear but Suga doesn’t give a fuck. It’s a remainder he doesn’t mind at the moment. Or rather, something he's desperate to get used to.

“It better,” Suga grins. “I hope you’re not finished with me yet.”

**Author's Note:**

> i'm older and grosser and so them boyz r too. thanks for reading!!! get hype for new hq!! soon!!! i know I am!!!


End file.
